


On this day

by EnlacingLines



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 2/2 Fic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post Game, Returning Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: On the 2nd of February, Akira agrees to destroy the only sure reality where the person he loves exists.On the 3rd of February, he decides to hold onto hope.The years continue. The first fact never changes, but the second promise becomes harder.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 25
Kudos: 191





	On this day

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 2/2! I had to write something for today, and thank you to my lovely beta Valania <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy

**2017**

On the 2nd of February, Akira agrees to destroy the only sure reality where the person he loves exists. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t think it’s fair he has to even face this choice, but by now, Akira has worked out he’s not allowed to be selfish. 

Living a lie doesn’t sit with him any easier than it does Goro, truth be told. And yet, he’s a hypocrite, spent a week gently reminding his friends they all lived in the fantasy of their minds brought to life, and here, for a few minutes, he indulged in doing the same. 

Goro stares at him, the venom in his words still echoing in Akira’s ears. He aches; what must it be like, knowing you aren’t real? Akira had been completely taken in, so sure that, much like many of the fantastical events that had occurred in the last months, Goro’s return was a matter of the other world. 

He’s different from the others. He is aware of the gaps, in the strangeness, while other resurrections had been a part of that world only as strong as his friend’s wishes. But Goro is still wholly him, finally him, if Akira is telling the truth, those sparks he’d glimpsed, hidden and covered by necessity, finally bared for all to see. He does not believe that Goro is dead, and yet even if there is a slim chance he could be, part of him for just a few moments, doesn’t want to risk it. 

It’s not enough time, it hasn’t been enough. And even now Goro stands poised ready to flee, huffing at Akira’s silence. 

“Out with it. Whatever sentimental drivel you need to say, get it out of your system so I’m spared of your dramatics tomorrow.” 

Akira thinks that’s somewhat unfair considering of the two of them, Goro is the more dramatic; with his declarations of rivalry, duels and final stand at the engine room. Akira really is only dramatic as Joker. And seeing as he’s not Joker now and they’re the only two here, words and spectacles are not on the table. 

He’s not counted for how incredibly awkward it is to kiss someone as a response to a question, moving forward only one step, before he presses his lips to Goro’s. For one hideous moment, Goro freezes and Akira regrets every decision he’s ever made until this point. Then, as if suddenly understanding movement, Goro yanks him closer, Akira almost falling over the miniscule space left separating them. 

He wraps an arm around Goro’s waist as he opens his mouth, Goro making something of a triumphant sound, if that’s even possible, as their kiss deepens. It’s too hard, in many ways for a first kiss, too much bite from Goro, even if Akira’s learning in every second he might prefer that to sweetness. It’s uncoordinated, bad even with the occasional clash of teeth and mismatched alignment, but Akira’s never felt so electrified in his life. 

He holds onto Goro’s, whose hands are still fisted in his shirt, clings and lets himself be taken in the moment, follows kiss after biting kiss as his lungs burn and his lips bruise. It’s a finality of commencement, a new step that ends everything, and it’s perfect in it’s hazy, frantic actions. 

Goro though, tears away before a true end is in sight, Akira’s arms dropping their hold, lips still humming from the attention. Goro inhales, steading, and Akira feels faintly proud that he has that effect. 

“Enough. Don’t do things you’ll never have to live with,” he says, staring at Akira, something between anger and loss in his eyes. 

“You think I won’t have to live with this?” Akira says, heart not broken but cracking, spider veins creeping in. 

“Tomorrow I’ll be gone again, and you get a memory of a night you don’t have to see the morning of. Anyone can make a choice on something that has no consequence,” Goro says, taking another step away. 

“It’s not as if I had a chance before now,” Akira says, trying to close the gap that’s already formed. 

Goro closes his eyes for a second. “Then maybe we were never meant to have one. I will not be your one night fantasy, Akira. No more than I’ll live because you wish for it. Be ready tomorrow. Don’t go back on your word.” 

He leaves then, before Akira can try to explain that perhaps something is better than nothing, but then again, he’s sure Goro will never see it as so. And perhaps it is better for him, to mourn almost cleanly than to defy things for a short while, only to willingly tear them down again. 

***

On the 3rd of February, Akira re-sets reality. He returns one person less, one heart fractured, yet with the knowledge he did what Goro wanted, what was the best thing for the universe. What is right has never been easy, and this is but another tally to that chart. 

He goes back to holding onto a glove and a promise, as try as he might, he cannot give up on hope. It’s set him up well, so far in his life. He does not doubt Goro’s word, nor the connection he has never tried to explain or give meaning to other than it simply is. And neither of them can escape from it. 

Akira will not believe he is dead, but for now he’ll have to wait. Even if it makes his skin itch, he can wait. 

* * *

**2018**

On the 2nd of February, Akira waits for a miracle. It’s happened before, it can happen again and really, this time he thinks he’s owed. Life has returned, all dull-edged and complex in its own ways, and yet while the world moves on, it’s impossible to forget what he lost. 

It’s not all terrible. After spending less than a month with his parents, everyone involved decided it would be better for him to finish school in Tokyo. He’ll graduate soon, go to university, and he’s still just as close with most of his friends, still found more of a family in Sojiro and Futaba than he knew could be possible with his own blood. 

Still. He sits at the counter of Leblanc at 11:15pm, one cold cup of coffee, one finished before him. He cannot cure everything with time. He still wakes up with nightmares, cannot stay in enclosed spaces or rooms with no windows, needs to sit in clear view of an exit when in restaurants. 

Still waits for Goro Akechi to return. 

He still knows, deep down, he is alive. Saw a glimpse of him that day in April almost a year ago, just as he saw Joker in the glass. These parts of him, his promise and rebellion, will never fade. They are as a part of him as his scars and his name, so tied in with his mind that they begin and end in his future. 

It’s almost like a ritual, what he’s doing. As if he could summon Goro to him by will and objects, and he manages to huff out a laugh at his own thoughts. He’s made more coffee than necessary out of distraction, gave himself the full cup and poured out the rest in another, pushing it over to the counter, awaiting his ghost. 

The candle he found in the back of the cupboard earlier. One of the lights is out in the far end of the café, Sojiro having said with a heavy sigh he’ll fix it in the morning. It provides a glow which aids in fighting off the gloom of the half-lit room, and oddly soothes Akira in it’s mesmerising flicker. 

It’s burned down quite a way now. He watches it then sighs, looking back at the clock. His eyes are heavy; exams are done but he still has school in the morning, and Sojiro will be here at his usual ungodly hour. 

And yet. 

It’s one year. One year since he confessed without words, one year since Goro told him he wouldn’t be a one-night fantasy. Akira has played that moment again in his head so many times since that moment. With better words, sweeter actions, anything to make Goro realise that he could never be a one-time anything. That his image has haunted Akira’s evenings many a time before and after; that they kept revolving back to one another, orbiting fate and crushing it between their fingers. 

He will return, Akira knows it. Goro does not make promises he cannot keep. And tonight is the perfect moment, so he knows the hour will dawn. He simply has to wait for it, as patiently as he can. 

***

On the 3rd of February, Akira wakes with a sharp pain in his neck, lancing through his spine, only dulling in his lower back. He groans, and Sojiro pulls away from his shoulder. 

“Did you sleep here? Why didn’t you go to bed?” he asks, staring down at Akira with pure worry in his face. 

Akira for a moment doesn’t remember why exactly he’s contorted horrifically over a booth table, before reality comes crashing back down. He looks past Sojiro, sees the burned out candle and the two mugs, one empty and one full of now stone cold coffee. 

“Sorry.” is all he can muster, as his heart charges through several stages, those broken pieces he thought sewn back coming loose once more. 

Sojiro gives him a look, caring if confused, but shakes his head. He’s clearly seen the mess on the counter, but doesn’t comment. 

“Better take a bath before school,” he says. 

Akira agrees, and wincing as he stretches himself out, parts cracking that probably shouldn't make such noise. As he passes Sojiro, he takes the candle, barely a stub now, and throws it in the trash. 

Upstairs, he looks at his room. It’s messy, but there is an order to it, which is good—he’ll need to think about packing soon, seeing as he’ll be moving into dorms when he goes to university. 

And for the first time, he thinks of it with more relief than fear. 

* * *

**2019**

On the 2nd of February, Akira watches the lights race by on his rented moped, sure more than ever he’s going to die. This is a different type of exhilarated danger, the most he’s ever felt in the real world, so much that he has to occasionally remind himself it is actually very much real. 

He’s just about managed to navigate the traffic system, which is essentially to simply go, but it’s still a hair-raising trip back to the hotel. He has one more day on vacation before he flies back just in time to get his exam results, but seeing as he had the time, he jumped on a plane as soon as he could. 

Travelling is a strange necessity at times; escaping away from the small box he’s in, getting a newness, a reminder that the world is so much bigger in and of itself, before he gets any wishes for another one. 

You can take the metaverse from the thief, but you cannot stop him yearning. 

He doesn’t miss being Joker per say, but something of way it made him feel more alive and crucial to a purpose greater than his own is a loss that pulls and aches. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to do anything greater than killing the god of control at seventeen, and occasionally that stirs something dark and clawing. Then, all he can do is run into some sense of vastness to make himself feel small once more.

With the adrenaline of the ride done, he parks up and enters the small hotel room, plugging in his phone. A sense of fatigue falls over him, head still ringing with lights and racing, as he gets ready to sleep. As he cleans his teeth, he writes down a few notes on the recipe he’d got from a local vendor this evening, thinking of how he might replicate that back home. Travelling brings differences in all areas, but Akira always keeps going back to cuisine. In some ways, perhaps he should be at culinary school, but there’s still time. So much time, in fact, that he can finish his degree and make new choices. 

The world is currently open and breath-taking, in a small corner of a different place. 

He falls into bed, checking through a few messages as his eyes barely close. He notices the date, of course, cannot help that knot of dread which pulls at his heart. He knows the timing of this trip is not just to push away the threatening clouds; or perhaps the clouds were born of the incoming memories, and he’d run from both. 

There is a part of him which wonders if two years is the date, the time, the moment. It’s his version of control, by not being there, by being in another country so Goro cannot find him, even if he tries. A punishment even. Akira has waited so long, cannot wait forever, will not be controlled in the same way Goro fought against. There is some pleasure in for once, not being the one startled when Goro walks into his life and brings his own brand of beautiful chaos. 

But really, he knows he just couldn’t stand another year of being disappointed. He hates that he can’t do anything about this, that hope is all he has. That try as he might, Akira will never let go of hope, as that’s who he is. And yet he hates how piece by piece, his heart breaks a little more each day, he feels a little more consumed in the knowledge that perhaps, he is wrong. Either Goro is actually dead, or he doesn’t want to return. 

Akira sits up, and wanders to the window, pulling open the curtains. The city sprawls, a breath-taking scene of warmth and brightness across the river, winding its way across and through all, history and permanency, sprawling outwards and onwards as far as Akira can see. 

His heart slows, his breathing calms. The world is wondrous and huge, beautiful and terrifying. There is more here than he can ever see in the years he has, but he will try. And there is more than one person to love, one person to wait for. 

Broken hearts and minds can be handled with care to sew themselves back to something new and different, not better or stronger, but changed in ways that work. Akira is trying, and some days it happens, some days it doesn’t. But the process is what’s important, and he’s making his way. 

He falls asleep watching the lights. 

***

On the 3rd of February, Akira wakes with an alarm, shivering in the dark. He stumbles outside, gets on his bike and drives in a race against the turning of the universe. Subtle heat warms his limbs as the world turns to blue, a warning that he’s nearing his deadline. The traffic is less so early, but it picks up as he reaches his destination, joining the gaggle of out of season tourists performing the cliché ritual. 

Akira parks then jogs up towards the hill side, the rising sun causing the world to begin it’s golden hue. He arrives just before the time, and sits down in his own space, the world slowing to a few minutes of silent magic as the sun rises over the horizon. Akira sits in the same places that others have for thousands of years, just nature and reality, heart slow and easy, the strange spinning of time melting into one minute of reality washing over him. 

Day breaks, and the world resets. Akira’s already visited this area, so wanders away, thinking of places he can go in the few hours before he needs to return his moped and make his way to the airport when his phone rings. 

“Good morning,” he says with a smile. 

He hears Futaba huff. “Says the person on vacation. I’m on my way to school. It’s freezing!” 

He smiles to himself; it’s warmer here but that’s not hard considering the forecast for Japan. “I look forward to that later today.” 

“Urg. Well, this is your call as requested to let you know the world is still normal. Nothing new to report,” she says. 

He pauses from a moment. He’d forgotten, in a moment of high strung worry when he’d booked this trip, that he’d asked her to call. Just in case Goro returned, couldn’t find him and gone looking. The faint, vague hope that had curled last night extinguished. 

“Thanks,” he says, feeling his eyes mist despite it all. 

“Are you okay?” Futaba says. 

He can hear the faint sounds of others taking, footsteps going past. She must be at Shujin already. Morgana possibly in her bag, except she never needs help with her answers in class. He inhales, amazed that he can feel so much of the past when the present is so different beneath his feet. 

“Yeah. I’ll be home late tonight, but I’ll come by tomorrow after I’ve seen my professor,” he says. 

“Yes! Sojiro’s been worrying, kept asking me if I’d heard from you. He’ll make us food for sure,” she says, sounding far too excited, as if Sojiro doesn’t make sure she eats real meals constantly. 

“Sounds good. Enjoy school,” he says, before they part. 

He sits by the moped and wills his hand not to shake. Two years is a long time, and yet the intensity of what he’s missing aches just as much as that first February 3rd. 

“I need to stop,” he says, to no one and nothing, but it’s true. He cannot keep pretending he’s moving on by running from the feelings, cannot keep hoping and waiting for something that looks like it will never happen. 

He loved and lost, he’s not unique in that way, even if every broken heart is singular in itself. And just as others have learned to live with that pain, he can too. And will. 

* * *

**2020**

On the 2nd of February, Akira holds a funeral. Well, more of a wake if he’s honest, with no idea if the person is truly dead, and the fact he’s sitting in the place of their first and final kiss, in the place they both felt of as a substitute home. 

It’s only himself and Sumire, as despite his need to do this today, he doesn’t feel like exposing these emotions to anyone else. She understands, in a strange way, that the months they worked on Maruki’s palace seemed to bond the three of them in a manner that is different to the rest of the Thieves. She sees Goro differently from them, and her quiet understanding is all that he can cope with today. 

Tonight is a version of goodbye, one long overdue. 

Sumire also doesn’t judge that he’s drinking while doing it. He also thinks it’s time to just drown his sorrows, just a little. She’s even joining, which is appreciated, having just turned twenty but still able to stomach the alcohol better than Akira does. 

“Do you have any photos? I think you should look at photos of him,” she says only swaying slightly as she finishes another glass. 

He’s really not sure he should, seeing as he’s avoided doing so for a while, but he’s currently easily suggestable. 

All the photos are on his old phone, which he’s kept for a variety of sentimental reasons including the very few moments that prove Goro Akechi once existed in his life. It doesn’t take long to start and he flicks through the gallery, vision fading in and out. 

There’s not many. Goro never really joined in group activities, and Akira’s photos from that time are usually him taking pictures of others or being asked to take a selfie with Ann or Ryuji. But, he did manage to get a few. Mostly, they’re ones trying to annoy Goro, taken at self professed unflattering angles which in Akira’s mind look like his best side. 

True moments captured, what Yusuke would approve of as a good usage of a camera. Goro concentrating on a chess match, not aware the photo is being taken. That time he’d finished an entire plate of spicy curry, eyes watering and hair out of place, flush clear. And Akira’s favourite is near the end of the roll. One taken at the jazz club, Goro smirking slightly, probably the only time he’d approved of a photo, one that Akira nearly set as his lock screen afterwards. 

He can’t remember how he’d managed to take that photo, the conversation lost in three years of time. The thought makes him sit up in sudden fear, a bolt of truth through the intoxication. He is forgotten little pieces of their time together; will probably continue to do so as life moves, his brain replacing what it decides is unnecessary without his permission. He will never, entirely forget Goro, but he will not always remember all the things that made him carve a place in Akira’s heart. The thought is both awful and comforting, as Akira is finding change usually is. 

“That one’s cute,” Sumire says, sitting next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. 

He drops his head onto hers. “Yeah. I have no photos of us together. That was stupid,” he says, feeling his throat start to constrict. 

“We always think there’s more time,” she says, taking up his hand and squeezing it. 

Akira stares forlorn, at the photo for a moment before Sumire sighs. 

“Do you remember that time we went to the café? He kept saying anything to get you to talk about the Phantom Thieves. He really wasn’t as subtle as he thought,” she says, laughing. 

Akira manages a smile, even if that feels like that occurred in another lifetime. 

“It was… fun, at times, in the metaverse with Akechi. If that’s really the word, but I did like spending the short amount of time we did with him. I think we could have been good friends,” she says, her own voice quivering and Akira ends up breaking away so he can hug her. 

“Yeah. I think you would have been,” he says, and she squeezes back once, before breaking away and wiping her eyes. 

It’s nicer than he expected, sharing this with another person, the potentials that he mourns almost more than the real loss. Akira pours them both another drink, knowing this is a bad idea but Sumire doesn’t stop him. 

“I kissed him, once. He said that he didn’t want to be a one-night fantasy,” he says, then raises the glass upwards. “Congratulations, Goro, you’re now a three year fantasy. I think you had a pretty long run,” he says. 

Sumire shakes her head, and raises her own glass, tapping it against his. “You were both disasters,” she says, and Akira finds that far funnier than he should. 

The rest of the night fades away into a blur of moments, and by the end of it, Sumire calls a cab, and Akira waits with her to make sure she gets in, before stumbling back to Leblanc, just about managing to lock up and get up the stairs. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

***

On the 3rd of February, Akira wakes up with a horrific hangover. Absolutely deserved, considering the speed and amount he’d consumed the night before, but his head throbs in a way that feels entirely unfair. 

The attic room is barely comfortable now, considering Akira hadn’t been in a state to properly roll out the futon, and he has a perfectly good apartment across town. Except his drunken brain had decided just to crash where he was, the past and blending into terrible decisions all round. 

He can hear noises from the café floor, and grimaces. Sojiro is probably not going to be particularly forgiving of him for getting trashed in the café, even if he’s ninety percent certain there should be no evidence of it. Other than his poor excuse for a human self. Akira knows the man has always been more perceptive than he gave him credit for as a teen. He’s sure Sojiro knows a little of why he asked for the keys yesterday. But he didn’t actually tell him he’d be sleeping over. 

Akira isn’t sure what time it is, only that there’s light streaming through the windows, which means Leblanc must be open or almost ready to. He wonders, as he tips himself upright and pulls on his shirt, if Sojiro will take pity on him to at least give him a coffee before he faces the train. The thought of curry makes his stomach turn, but caffeine will alert him enough to get home without any major disasters. 

Akira creeps down the stairs best he can, contrite expression not even feigned as he makes it down the last step, looking towards the counter. Sojiro stands by the TV and sighs at his appearance. 

“I don’t want to know. Sit down, I’ll make you a cup,” he says. 

Akira offers a grateful smile, head pounding as it is from moving. Sojiro gives him a glass of water, and he swallows half of it in one go, before a cup of coffee is slid over to him. One sip and Akira feels instantly better, stomach somehow settling and mind recalling how to function. 

The chime of the bell though sends his head rattling and Akira winces, trying to sooth his temples. 

“Hoo boy. Well. Unexpected.” 

A weird thing for Sojiro to say to a customer, which has Akira turning achingly slowly towards the door, eyes smarting at the winter sun streaming through the glass. 

But it doesn’t stop him from seeing Goro Akechi in the frame.

Akira has to close his eyes and refocus them to make sure he’s not still drunk and seeing things, but no. He’s there, in the flesh, right in front of Akira in the way he’d been wishing for in the past three years. Typical, that on the morning of deciding to place the past behind, it walks right back through the door. 

Although, now Akira’s mind has stopped reeling on the impossibility, he can actually tell this Goro is different from the fading phantom of his memories. He’s taller, dressed in boots and dark jeans with a heavy grey parka that suits him. His hair is longer, tied back tight against his head with a few strands escaping, more casual and messy than Akira’s ever seen him. 

It’s a good look. He also seems vaguely nervous which is not an expression Akira remembers on him at all. But it aids in the notion that this is happening; that for the first time in a long time the air between them is sparked with something normal. And that is far more exciting that Akira ever imagined it could be. 

“Kid,” Sojiro says, and he turns to look at his guardian. 

Sojiro looks at him, and Akira nods, understanding the question. Sojiro gives him another hard look then sighs, walking around the counter. 

“I open up in half an hour. I’m going to get cigarettes,” he says, and Akira exhales, exceptionally grateful. 

Sojiro gives Goro a long look, before moving past him, and patting his shoulder once as he does. Goro starts a little at the contact, but moves further into the shop as the door closes behind him. Akira turns fully, standing slowly, glad he’s had some coffee so he can pretend at being fine. 

“I apologise for the early arrival,” Goro says, and his voice is memory, velvet comfort that fits and warms in a decadent way. 

Akira smiles to himself. “You’re not sorry,” he says. 

Goro blinks, then it forms, that delightfully sharp smile, natural and brilliant. “No, not really.”

Akira walks forward, pushing back his hair, and marvels a little at how Goro follows the movement. “You can apologise for being late though,” he says. 

Goro tilts his head. “I would say I’m on time, actually.” 

Akira laughs, head aching a little. “Yeah. I had a wake for you last night. Sounds about right, for you to come back from the dead. Again,” he says, smile growing unbidden. 

Goro’s expression, though, falls. He takes a step forward this time. “Presumptuous, but I deserve that, I suppose.” 

“Why now?” Akira says, which is easier than a thousand other questions he could ask, and encompasses all of them at the same time. 

Goro looks at him, marks his frame, and Akira heats and shivers for a moment, having forgotten just how it felt to be under his gaze. 

“Today’s the right day. For many reasons. A time for… a second chance,” he says, the tone hopefully measured. 

Akira breathes, taking in this second, to remember it for all the Februarys to come. “Saying things like that has consequences,” he says. 

Goro glares. “I'm aware. You think I didn’t consider that for three years?” he says, some of that bite back. Akira cannot help but enjoy it. 

“So much for a one-night fantasy,” Akira says, and Goro actually snaps his teeth, turning away. 

Akira though, takes the final step forward. “You never would have been, you know. Even if you’d chosen to stay away, even though we’re in different places now. I haven’t forgotten you. And I don’t want to.” 

Goro looks at him, then leans forward, placing one delicate kiss to his lips, too fragile for Akira’s liking but any more he’s sure, would break him to pieces. 

“You look like a wreck. And you smell hideous,” Goro comments and Akira laughs, stepping back. 

“Well, I feel like a wreck. If you give me an hour to shower and sort myself out we could get breakfast?” he says. 

Goro lifts his hand to his chin as if in contemplation, a motion that Akira is glad to see survived the years. “Fine. I’m picking where we go.” 

“Deal,” Akira says, quickly grabbing his coat and phone. 

“If you’re longer than an hour, I’m leaving,” Goro warms as they walk into the street, Akira only wincing slightly in the sun. 

“No you’re not,” Akira says, swiping for Goro’s hand, claiming it, and feeling Goro squeeze back tightly, no chance of it being dropped, even as he huffs in protest. 

He sees Sojiro out of the corner of his eye, who nods and smiles as he drops the end of his cigarette. Akira smiles, the world lifting and expanding once again at the simplicity of walking hand in hand with someone he’s loved for years on end, and the potential of their first, real chance. 

* * *

On the 3rd of February, Akira stops counting these particular days. Some anniversaries are better left in the past. Especially, when there is a future to anticipate. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come talk to me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


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